


Please Hold

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, M/M, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Genim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles should never have taken a job in customer service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Hold

“Thank you for calling tech support, my name is Genim, how may I assist you today?” Stiles asked, pronouncing the foreign name with perfect polish inflection, to ensure his customer would never be able to repeat it. “ . . . . . uh huh. . . . I see. Could you hold on one moment while I redirect your call? Thank you.” Stiles pressed hold on the antiquated telephone machine and turned to the desk across from him. 

“Hey, Scotty?” 

“Yes, Stiles?” Scott looked up, weary and exasperated after six hours of dealing with nonstop customer complaints. He'd been responding to e-mails all day, most of which were poorly written and entirely in caps-lock. Around them, several other employees answered various phone lines and e-mails with similar levels of enthusiasm. 

“Do you care if someones newspaper keeps getting delivered to the wrong address?” He wore a blank look of indifference. He might have cared, maybe just a smidgeon, if the woman actually bothered changing her address on her subscription forms, which had been sent to her new address over five times. 

“Is it my newspaper, or my address?” Scott tapped his pen thoughtfully. “If not I guess I'm just sort of indifferent. Why?” 

Stiles sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “My job is to redirect calls towards someone who cares, but it looks like no one does. I guess I'll just leave it, someones bound to pick up eventually. Hopefully someone who cares.” He pulled his keyboard towards him again and scrolled through the motley of written complaints he was supposed to respond too. He didn't care about _those_ either. 

“You're the worst customer service agent ever.” Scott tried to hide his smile. It was hard to be disapproving when Stiles complete lack of concern for his job made his so much more enjoyable.

“The worst, or the _best_?” Stiles winked. 

“The worst. One day you're going to get caught, you know.” 

“Yes, and the day I get caught is the day I get to _leave_.” Stiles looked wistfully up towards the ceiling, imagining the beautiful day he got to skip out of the office, his head held high, his back straight, and his life blissfully unemployed. Oh, what a day it would be. Up until the paychecks stopped coming, but that was something to worry about when it happened. 

That day happened a mere two weeks later. One of his bosses, the hot one who went for jogs wearing white T-shirts and had a face more apathetic than his own came into the room. Every intern looked up immediately, his presence was never a good sign.

“Which one of you is Stilinski?” His face was serious. Stiles ducked his head and bit his lip, wondering briefly if he could just pretend he was someone else and be ignored for the rest of the day. Boyd was out. Maybe he could reach over and snag his nametag before anyone noticed. Peter waited a period of four seconds before speaking again. 

“Whoever points him out first gets a free coffee.” He crossed his arms and scanned his eyes across the room. 

Instantly all eyes and arms were pointed in Stiles direction. 

“Thanks, guys. Good camaraderie. Glad to know we've all got each others backs.” 

Peter smirked. “Stilinski, come with me. Lahey, you may leave to get a coffee.” 

“There's free coffee in the break room, you know,” Stiles hissed as he passed by Isaacs desk. Isaac looked smug. Peter either didn't hear them or didn't care as he turned to stalk back to his office. It was probably the later. 

Stiles followed him quietly. He knew what this would be about, all the 'your call may be recorded for quality assurance' messages had left him very prepared for this situation. At least he got to stare at Peter Hales ass one last time before getting fired. 

Peter led him into his office and shut the door behind them. 

“Don't bother sitting. We won't be in here long.” Peter said when Stiles moved towards the chairs. Stiles tensed his shoulders a bit, and prepared for his scolding. 

“Do you know why I've called you in here?” the man asked, casually. He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, looking at Stiles as though he were little more than a pest. Which, in all honesty, he probably was. 

“I'm getting promoted and you wanted it to be a surprise?”

Peter smirked. “Quit the opposite, actually. Care to guess again?” Stiles pursed his lips. “No? Well then, let me enlighten you. Since the time of your employment you have redirected fifty-seven people to the complaints department.” 

“So?”

“We don't _have_ a complaints department. We have a customer service department, which you work in. In addition to _that_ , you offered nine customers a limited lifetime warranty.”

“Well, that sounds like excellent customer service to me.” It sounded a lot less funny when it was said out loud. 

“We sell newspapers. We offer subscriptions. We do _not_ have warranties. According to what I've seen and heard you've done maybe four or five hours of actual work in the past six months. So, is there anything else you would like to add before we discuss the consequences of your actions?” 

Well, if he was going out he might as well go out for all of it. “I told an old man his newspapers kept getting stolen by dogs because he wasn't paying his bill on time. He hasn't been late on a bill since, so I still think I'm in the right. Also, the coffee here is shit.”

“So you have a propensity to lie and an attitude problem?” 

Stiles clenched his jaw shut. His shoulders tensed as he waited for the lecture to begin. 

“You're cute.” Peter chuckled. 

“Well I- . . . wait, what?” 

Peter grabbed him by the collar and started hauling him out of the room. Stiles dug his heels into the carpet as he was dragged along. 

“Woah, hey!” He brought the struggling boy over to a small desk just outside his office, pulled the chair out, and pushed him into it. Stiles blinked and looked around. The desk was almost the same as his old one, with a matching laptop and phone line. 

Peter leaned down to his level and spoke in a hushed tone. “Since you seem incapable of being helpful and answering the other phones, you're going to sit here quietly and answer this one. I trust your very particular _talents_ will come in handy here.” 

Stiles blinked in confusion. “You're not firing me?” 

“No,” Peter said with a small twitch of his lips. “I'm not firing you. But you're job is hanging by a thread, I have every reason to fire you, and enough pre-recorded calls to toss you out so fast your head would spin. But I don't think that'll be necessary here.” 

“So . . . what is it you want me to do, exactly?” Stiles looked at the computer and the phone. There were no lists of people to call, e-mails to respond to, or customers to thank. 

“I just want you to sit here and be your usual helpful self. So, if someone calls and asks if I'm available, what do you say?” 

“. . . You aren't here right now?” 

“When will I be back?”

“Could be weeks?” 

“Good boy,” Peter smirked. With that he gave the boy a condescending pat on the head and returned to his office. Stiles stared at his new desk, and his new computer. Peter had said he wasn't getting promoted, but this felt an awful lot like a promotion to him. 

* 

“Anybody call for me while I was gone, Stiles?” Peter asked. 

Stiles continued typing at his desk. He was given very little actual work to do, aside from fielding phone calls and e-mails to set up appointments. He was about two hours into a very intense session of minesweeper when Peter announced he'd be going on a coffee run. 

“Nope,” he announced cheerfully. “Nobody you need to respond to, anyways.” 

“Good boy,” Peter praised as he placed a coffee cup down on Stiles desk. The contented employee flashed his appreciation in the form of a rare smile. He paused his game and took a sip of the drink. 

“By the way,” he said, just as Peters hand started to turn the knob to his office. “You're sister is here.” 

Peters hand froze. He looked back at Stiles with a deadly glare. 

Stiles hid his smirk behind his coffee cup and took another sip. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

Peter took a deep breath, and then yanked the door open with a forced smile plastered on his face. 

An hour or two later Talia left. She nodded politely towards the young secretary at her brothers desk. Stiles waved her goodbye and went back to his game. 

Peter emerged looking less than pleased. “What the hell was that about? Don't I pay you to just sit around and not let anyone in? Stiles, sweetheart, I thought we had come to a compromise?” 

“She outranks you.” Stiles said with a shrug. “I couldn't make her leave, even if I wanted too.” 

“I could _fire_ you,” he threatened. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. Peter might be able to say he was a poor customer service agent, but he had Talias number saved in his phone, and she wouldn't like to hear how her brother was really spending his working hours. “She'd take my side. You know, I can always be bribed,” Stiles said. He held out his hand with a smirk that rivaled his bosses. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “How about I take you to dinner, instead?” 

“Really?” Stiles lowered his hand. He tilted his head to one side. “You want to take me to dinner?” He looked at the clock, it was just a little past five. 

“Why not?” Peter shrugged. “I've known you long enough, and I think after talking to Talia I need a nice glass of wine.” 

“I'll grab my jacket,” Stiles said with a grin. 

Peter drove them in his Mercedes to some fancy restaurant downtown that was too expensive for Stiles to even look at. He felt a little self-conscious in his modest white shirt and black pants, next to all the upscale debutantes and important business peoples in their suits and ties. He hid a little behind Peter while they waited to be seated. 

When they were finally placed at a both in the corner Stiles slid as far into it as he could. Peter ordered a glass of wine and some french dish Stiles couldn't pronounce, while he had a hamburger and fries. 

“So, come here often?” Stiles asked to break the silence. He dipped one of his fries into a splattering of ketchup and popped it in his mouth. 

Peter looked over at him with a strange expression. “Only when I have some pleasing company. Here, try some wine.” He lifted his glass up to Stiles lips, who sipped it without hesitation. It was dry and maybe a little salty, though that could have been from the fries. 

“It's good, isn't it? It's imported,” he offered him some more but Stiles shook his head. 

“It tastes fine,” he shrugged. “Same as any wine. Why's it matter where it comes from?” he popped another french fry in his mouth. 

Peter sighed. “You classless thing, you. You're lucky I'm such a charitable person, next time I'll just take you to McDonalds.” 

Stiles grinned. “McDonalds has better fries, anyways.” 

* 

It took Stiles little over a month to realize they were dating. He was dating Peter Hale. Peter, fucking, Hale. His boss. One of the wealthiest men in the city, and they were dating. The realization hit him like a rock as he sat next to said most-eligible bachelor in an upper class bar on the east side of town. 

Since the first day after Talias visit they'd gone out together every single night, and every single night Peter paid. He said he was trying to expose Stiles to the more refined things in life, 'improve your pallet, if you will,' and yet Stiles insisted he liked hamburgers and cheese fries just the same, if not more so.

At work Peter left light, lingering touches to his shoulders and the nape of his neck. When he dropped him off after dinner their eyes stayed on each others faces a little too long. Stiles would laugh and call him strange, Peter would smirk and admit that maybe he was. 

He looked over at Peter, who starred out the wide window onto the streets below. 

“Peter?” Stiles asked cautiously. 

Peter looked back at him. “Yes, my unrefined friend?” 

Stiles hesitated. “Are we just friends? Or are we something . . . more?” 

The question made Peter laugh. “If we are you're the most expensive friend I've ever had.” He leaned in across the table and kissed Stiles tenderly on the lips. “Does that answer your question?” he whispered. 

Stiles nodded. Then he grinned and kissed Peter back.


End file.
